


A Boy and a Girl

by summerwick



Series: A Boy and a Girl [1]
Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, OC, OC Perspective, Oblivious Stydia, Outsider watches Stydia, Stydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 08:16:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2143584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerwick/pseuds/summerwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fic Request posted on stydia-fanfiction: A freshman at Beacon Hills thinks Lydia and Stiles are dating because they constantly talk and hold hands. Lydia has an interesting time explaining that they aren’t actually in a relationship… and through her explanation, she comes to realizes that they really should be.<br/>(Part 2 coming)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Boy and a Girl

            I’m a nobody at this party, but at least the people here are nice. Moving to Beacon Hills only a week ago, tonight was my first party. When my new neighbor told my mother about this  _shindig_  being held by a couple of senior jocks, my creator practically forced me to go. A very anti-social me originally said no, and that was my mistake, because then came the berating. The claims that I needed a boyfriend and friends and people that liked me. The winning argument was her guilting me about not trying hard enough to make friends until I relented, and then she was eager to shove her keys into the ignition of her dirty car and drop me out front. I could feel the judging stares from across the yard, so many people wondering who I was and why I was here. I was only a freshman, and I really had no idea if us “lesser folk” were even allowed at an upperclassman party.

I snuck past a group of cackling females with flat ironed hair talking badly about one of their other friends and made my way into the living room. Collapsing onto an armchair in the corner was my best decision yet. No one could bother me here.

Phone check: 10:30 PM.

Two more hours until I’m allowed to call my mom to pick me up and  _lie lie lie_  all about what a super fun time I had.

A group of older teens laugh near me, instantly catching my attention. What retained, it was how comfortable with each other they were (not to mention they were really pretty too). There’s a Spanish guy with his hand covering a gorgeous Asian girl with flawless skin and shiny black waves of hair pooling around her shoulders. Her smile was gentle and shy, but the twinkle in her eyes was genuine. I wonder if that spark is always there.

            Then there’s the tall girl with tan skin and dirty blonde hair. I see her around school sometimes, and I hear the chatter in the hall about how odd she is. She’s sitting on her own chair, slapping her knee as she laughs at something undoubtedly hysterical. There’s something almost Barbie-doll like about her, but she’s too curvy to be, in a good way.

            And then my eyes fall on a pair that makes me both envious and fuzzy inside. A beautiful red-headed girl has her back pressed against a tall attractive boy with moles littered across his face like dimples in the water. His arms are fiercely enclosed around her body, and when he chuckles I can tell that she feels it vibrate through her at the way her eyes close and a gentle happiness slowly quirks her plump salmon colored lips. Her wrist bends and dainty manicured nails run ever so slightly over the hair of the cute boy’s arm, causing it to goose bump. His hold on her involuntarily tightens, but neither of them seems to notice.

            I hope they don’t realize I’m staring at them, because I’m not about to look away any time soon. I couldn’t tell you why I was so captivated by these people, the couple in particular, but they just appeared so relaxed in their own little private bubble of friendship. They were closed off from the party, the writhing sweaty bodies standing by the DJ outside and even the obnoxious wet t-shirt contest that was apparently being held outside, that much being made obvious by the chanting teenage boys hollering as they crowded through the backdoor.

            Whatever was happening in this room in the moment, it was real. And those two, the redheaded porcelain doll and her spotted white knight, they were in love.

If I had to guess, I’d say he’s the real protective type. I can see it in the way he holds her, and again when his lips press against the section of skin between her neck and her shoulder blade. His breath is warm because the girl is sighing in response to the attention he gives her, letting her head drop back against his shoulder and rubbing her face into the short cotton sleeve of his t-shirt. A smile plays on half of his face, but it spreads until I can see his teeth. His eyes are on her.

            He leans in slightly to whisper something in her ear. She pauses for a split second before her chin is lifting up to look backwards at him from under hooded eyelashes. He makes a face at her, and she’s laughing again. He likes the sound.

            I find it strange when I hear him tell the Spanish boy and the Asian girl to get a room, because they were only lightly flirting and holding hands, unlike him. He and the pretty porcelain girl were practically putting on a show with the ministrations of their hands and the romantic way he squeezed her to him, so it was almost hypocritical for him to comment on the other pair’s behavior. I watch for their reactions, wait for them to retort in some way. They only roll their eyes and sharing knowing glances, and I wonder what it is that they know that I can’t see from an outsider’s perspective. It’s then that I decide that I want to know these people, but I don’t want to break into the perfect wall of ignorance they’ve surrounded themselves with for the time being, their own time away from the real world before school came rolling back around on Monday.

The dirty blonde and the raven haired girl decide they want to find some other type of alcohol, but the Spanish boy either doesn’t want them to go alone or doesn’t want to be left with the cuddling pair on the couch. I can’t really blame him for not wanting to feel awkward, but at the same time I’m starting to feel a little creepy for still watching them. I wonder how far the line can be pushed until it’s considered harassment.

            Once the group of three scatter out of the living room, it’s pretty empty for the most part. There’s me and a couple of quieter people drinking in the corners, and then there’s the lovey dovey couple on the couch.

            Now that they’re alone, I expect them to start kissing, but they don’t. They’re quiet and make little movement, although the redhead readjusts herself and relaxes into the arms of the boy behind her. She’s settled more comfortably now, and she moans her content. She’s probably going to fall asleep. Most of the party has moved into the backyard anyway, so if she really wanted to, she honestly could. The thumping of music was faraway, enough to drown out.

            At the sound that escapes her lips, the freckled boy smiles against her hair and places an abrupt kiss on the top of her head. She shivers in his hold.

            “Are you cold?” I can hear him mutter huskily, the silence in the room heavier without so many people.

            “Yeah,” her lips twist in dismay.

            His eyes dart around the room, searching, and for a brief second, make contact with mine. I’m quick to look away, and it’s probably more suspicious than keeping my eyes trained on them. The only people that avoid eye contact are weirdoes and the socially awkward. Or at least that’s what my sister tells me.

            “I’m going to grab one from Spencer’s room, he won’t mind,” he gently moves her off of him, and she groans in annoyance at the loss of contact. He’s satisfied with that reaction, but also disappointed that she’s momentarily out of his reach. He stands now, and I see him at his full height. If he weren’t in a relationship with seemingly the most gorgeous girl at Beacon Hills, he would be my type.

            He stretches his shoulders and a popping sound resonates. The redhead looks grossed out, but says nothing. I smirk because I honestly find her kind of endearing. “Are you gonna be okay here?” his brow furrows with the weight of his concern.

            I can’t help but roll my eyes at my correct assumption in him being overprotective. It’s a little bit over the top to worry about leaving her alone for _two_  minutes. What could happen?

            “Only if you promise that when you get back my only source of warmth won’t be  _just_ the blanket.”

            His lips curl as he mentally reiterates what she just said. His eyes brighten in understanding and he reaches an uncertain hand toward the still-sitting girl, letting it trail over the wisps of hair accented around her chin. He’s almost awkward about it, like he isn’t sure if it’s too far. How can that be? He’s her damn boyfriend and they were just wrapped up in each other. I don’t get it.

            Her smile is sincere and warm, like she can see his nerves on full display. She cups her hand over his until he finally pulls back, dragging his feet out of the room and toward the stairs.

            She’s readjusting her clothing and hair, reapplying her lip stain before he returns, every so often peering her head around the corner just to make sure he won’t catch her in the middle of fixing herself up. She’d probably never live that down.

            In the middle of pressing the glossy stick to the middle of her lips, her eye catches mine from the reflection in her handheld mirror. I have a small heart attack as she snaps it closed and shoves it back in her bag. Then she’s gesturing to me with her hand and I can’t help but point to myself and mouth “Me?” She nods.

            With jelly-like legs, I somehow make my way toward her and deem myself unworthy. My self-esteem isn’t exactly sky high, and I assume that if an upperclassmen of her scale was wanting to talk to  _me_  that she was about to accuse me of being a stalker. Oh god, she probably saw me watching them this whole time.

            “Hi,” she greets, extending a hand to shake mine. “I’m Lydia, what’s your name?”

            It was nice to put a name to her face, and I could now associate it with a label. She looked like a Lydia. “It’s uh… It’s Windy.”

            “Like the weather?” Her smile broadens and the red of her lips expands. “That’s really cool.”

            My face flushes instantaneously and I look toward my lap. “Not really, I was bullied in middle school because it’s another word for farting.”

            Lydia bursts out in laughter, a hand going up to cover her mouth. “You’re cute. Are you a freshman?”

            I’m taken aback by how nice this girl is. “Y-Yes.” And I find the courage to say something about my observations without directly saying I’m a creepy person who stares at people. “Your friends seemed nice.”

            “If you want I can introduce you to them when they get back, they’re great.” She says with a shrug.

            “That would be…. cool.” I grin. “And your boyfriend really loves you, I can tell.”

            She’s dumbstruck for a solid five seconds before realization replaces the cloudy look in her eyes and the bend of her eyebrows. “Oh, you mean Stiles?” she laughs shortly. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

            My face drops in bemused shock. “What? But I saw you guys cuddling and he was kissing you.” I blush inadvertently. “Not that I was watching.”

            “Oh,” Lydia stirs the thought in her brain, chewing on her lower lip. “We’re just close.”

I wonder if she’s trying to convince herself.

            “I don’t do that with any of my guy friends,” I claim with a shake of my head. If they’re not together, then there’s some serious feelings brewing and if I can help out and bring that side out of her, why not? She was a nice girl and they had something real between them. If I could take the credit for putting them together, that would be even better.

            “Stiles and I are just…” I assume it’s a nickname, because if not, I no longer feel that bad about my own name. “We’re different I guess,” she squeaks, unable to put the terms for what they were in her own words. “It’s not like we actually kiss or do any couple-like things… we just…”

            “Act like you do,” I finish for her dumbly.

            Her face scrunches, like she’s just now hearing herself. “I guess it’s a little weird. I mean, we always act like we’re… more than friends.” she ponders this. “I even have some of his shirts and I sleep in them and he knows and it’s not a big deal. Shouldn’t that be a big deal?” Her head shakes quickly. “Wow, Why  _aren’t_  we together?”  
            I crack up a laugh as my eyes find Stiles, the boy in question, standing a few feet behind the couch with a folded blanket in his arms. Lydia sees where I’m staring off to, and swivels around with such ferocity I’m surprised she doesn’t fall over.

            He stands there with shock etched in his expression, his mouth parted slightly to reveal a pink tongue that I bet Lydia will be tasting soon. “I got you… a blanket.” His mouth is dry. He swallows hard.

Lydia blushes fiercely, tugging the blanket from him with embarrassment reddening her puffy cheeks. Her eyes are everywhere but on him, suddenly finding the décor along the walls much more interesting than whatever was happening in front of her.

Stiles shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat, like it’ll erase the awkward tension rising by individual degree.

Maybe Beacon Hills won’t be so bad after all.


End file.
